


Colder Weather

by that_which_yields



Series: Sunset [1]
Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: 1x2x1, 1x2x3, 1x3x1, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Break Up, Deathwing, HeavyWing, M/M, Multi, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-10
Updated: 2014-01-23
Packaged: 2018-01-04 05:57:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1077371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/that_which_yields/pseuds/that_which_yields
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“When you leave,” Heero murmurs, voice cracking like ice bearing too much weight, “and I know you will, so don’t try to lie – when you leave, don’t call me."<br/>Everyone knows that Duo is a runner. It's his motto - I run, I hide, but I never tell a lie. How will Heero handle it when his soulmate walks out of his life, even if he was expecting it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Current pairing: 1x2  
> Relentless angst. No happiness in sight. So sorry.

They are lying in bed one night, the blood fading from flushed cheeks, chests settling from panting breaths, when Heero rolls over onto his side and props himself up on an elbow. Duo tilts his head, staring into those deep blue eyes, and offers him the fuzzy smile of the utterly satiated. Heero doesn’t smile back, clear-eyed and lips tightened with sadness.

“When you leave,” Heero murmurs, voice cracking like ice bearing too much weight, “and I know you will, so don’t try to lie – when you leave, don’t call me. Don’t try to stay in my life from hundreds of miles away, from the bed of your newest lover.”

Duo doesn’t answer for a moment, his face falling like the last leaf of autumn from a decaying branch. Sorrow settles over the length of his bared skin, heavy like a blanket of night. Finally, he nods.

“Okay,” he whispers.

He doesn’t attempt to say more, doesn’t even begin to explain the duffle bag slowly filling in the bottom of their shared closet. He’s never bothered to hide his intentions, doesn’t think it fair that one day Heero could come home and find him gone. It’s just the way it is – he will run, it’s merely a matter of time. But the cruelest crime he could commit would be leaving without warning, shattering someone’s heart in the effortless space of not writing a note.

Heero knows it is coming, with every piece of clothing packed away in that hulking black bag. It hurts – of course it hurts, preparing to let the love of his life just walk away from him like he doesn’t mean anything. Duo was born to leave, though, was never meant to be pinned to a home like a bug on a child’s bulletin board. And he would go, if Duo asked, would pack what he could fit in a backpack and leave his life behind… but Duo won’t ask. Duo never takes any part of his past with him when he flees it.

“I’ll miss you,” Heero manages, sobs choking his throat.

Duo doesn’t answer, merely gazes at him with lips stitched shut with regret. Running hurts, it always does, but this will ache more than most. Time is slipping away from them, quicker than he can fathom, and he still hasn’t found the words to say goodbye.

Heero rolls away from the heat of Duo’s body as the tears come, flooding down his face in pre-emptive grief. Duo might still be there, cradled in the warmth of their passion, but his mind is already miles away, planning his new life without Heero. Heero’s shoulders shake as his heart begins to break right there in that too-silent room, and Duo stares at his curled spine, wishing he knew what to say. None of his words will amount to, “I’m staying,” so he leaves them in his head and watches his lover mourn a loss that hasn’t happened yet.

 

* * *

 

Heero wakes up alone and realizes that Duo has vanished. It’s not just that the other side of the bed is empty, sheets crumpled and cool, emptied of the midnight heat of the braided man’s body. It’s that the house is hollow as a scraped gourd, drained of the exuberance and light that Duo brings with him. The walls settle with a creaking sigh, sorrow in the worn planks beneath his feet as he goes through the motions of beginning his day.

Staggering into the kitchen, scrubbing absently at the stubble on his cheek, he picks up a scrap of paper attached to the refrigerator door. And sinks to the ground, knees turning to water, as the untidy scrawl of Duo’s handwriting levels him. No explanation. No words of love. Just _I’m leaving. I’m sorry._ And, unsteady, written more hastily and messily than the rest, dotted with a single fallen tear, paper still damp, _I won’t call._

He bows his head to his knees as the breaking completes, as his heart is neatly severed in two. It crumbles to the bottom of his ribcage, landing jarring and tattered among the scraps of his dignity. He lifts his eyes to the sky, lashes spiked with tears, and swallows a tidal wave of sorrow.

“I wish you’d come back,” he gasps, swamped by the agony of their shattered home.

 

 

Heero barely stirs as a sharp rattle emerges from the door. The knock sounds again, impatient and harsh, and Heero tugs the covers up over his head. The cocoon of warmth surrounds him, blanketing him in the fading remnants of Duo’s scent.

“Yuy,” a voice drifts through the door. “It’s been two weeks. Maybe it’s time to get out of bed.”

“Not yet Chang,” he murmurs, practically inaudible. “The breeze through the window still whispers his name. I just need a little more time.”

Footsteps recede down the hallway, the irate click of Wufei’s boot heels jabbing into his eardrums like ice picks. His friends are disappointed in him, alarmed that the infamous Heero Yuy could crumble so thoroughly at the loss of a solitary man. He’s not the person they thought he was, and he can’t quite bring himself to give a fuck.

Living off of protein bars and water is not how anyone expects to find the Savior of the Earth. The hero of the Eve Wars was never intended to be flattened by heartbreak. He is expected to be more than human, to be above the banality of emotions, and yet, here he is. Hollow-cheeked and sunken-eyed, hair plastered to his head by sleep and apathy. Getting out of bed only to drag another box of ration bars up to his bedside.

He tucks his face into the second pillow on the bed, the faint blue pillowcase still marred by the lingering smell of Duo’s shampoo. The scab over the wound of his aching heart cracks and splits, blood oozing from the opening. His limbs collect close to his chest, trying to hold the gaping edges of himself together as he irreparably falls apart.

 

* * *

 

 

At the month mark, with dozens of empty boxes scattered around the bed, sheets stained with tears, skin drawn tight over quaking bones, the door bursts from its hinges like a rotten melon exploding. Bleary sapphire eyes examine the figure in the doorway, tall and imposing, arms crossed over his chest.

“Trowa,” he rasps wearily. His rusted voicebox creaks with the words – he hasn’t spoken in a week. Has no one to speak to.

Every time the phone rings, his broken-boned heart leaps in its steel cage, launching itself eagerly against the molten bars. The phone never holds Duo’s name, though, never reveals the secret to hearing his bedroom voice greet the morning again. Heero finds he doesn’t care to talk to anyone who hasn’t spoken to the darkest corners of his soul. His phone isn’t even charged anymore – Duo won’t call. He promised. And if nothing else, Duo always kept his promises.

“Heero, it’s time. We’re all worried about you. You can’t just sleep your life away.”

“Everything hurts,” he says, words dropping into the silence of the room like atom bombs.

He lifts empty eyes to Trowa, eyes that were once so full of life that they were black with the depths of their intensity. Now they glow, a faint blue, the color leached out just as the meaning faded from his life. Trowa struggles not to stagger backwards, stunned by the stranger in front of him. He saw Heero in the wake of a Gundam’s detonation, bleeding and barely alive. He was miles more vibrant than he is right now.

“It hurts,” Heero continues quietly, uncaring of his audience. “I told him not to call, when he left. He promised. You know what that means, Trowa? I will never hear his voice again. Never hear him say my name in that way that words can’t describe. He even left his keys, so he could never come back here. I can’t stand the idea of never touching him again. I miss him so much…. I… I leave the doors unlocked.” He bows his head into his hands, a sob hitching out of his chest. “I leave the windows open.”

Trowa leans against the doorway, trying to contain the shock rippling through him. Heero Yuy, the one who kept two deadbolts and a combination lock on every door, the one with a pressure sensor on every window… leaving himself vulnerable. Leaving himself wide open, despite the wartime neuroses that they all share, in case Duo ever changes his mind. He drops down to one knee beside the bed, placing a hand on Heero’s shoulder, squeezing his fingers against the barely covered bone. Heero rolls away from him, tucking his body into a protective ball, shaking with his scarcely contained grief.

“For what it’s worth,” Trowa comments gently, “if I knew where he was, I would drag his sorry ass back here and put him in this bed, where he belongs.”

 

* * *

 

 

Quatre drops his spoon when Heero pushes open the door to the restaurant, looking like a refugee from a plane wreck. His skin is slung tight across his bones, stretched thin and translucent over the webwork of veins. The former pilots track his movements across the room, slow and careful, each foot placed as if his framework is fragile and apt to collapse. Which, given the skeletal state of his body, is entirely possible. He lowers himself slowly into a chair, clean-shaven at last, once-tangled hair stripped down to stubble. Trowa offers him a welcoming smile but doesn’t pressure him, passing him a menu as he takes a sip of his orange juice.

“Heero,” Quatre breathes. “It’s so good to see you.”

Heero glances up from the menu, his eyes huge and luminous in his unnaturally thin face. He holds a smile as he would an infant – tentative, afraid to drop it lest it break. “Yes, well… it hurt just as much to stay in bed with his ghost. I might as well start living again.”

Conversation resumes, slowly. Relena casts a concerned expression across the table when he orders tea and toast, nothing more. He shrugs his shoulders apologetically, the clearly visible bones flexing like bird’s wings. She reaches across the table to press her hand atop his prominent knuckles.

He ducks his head for a moment, shooting a swift peek sideways at Trowa. “I locked the doors today.”

He shakes his head at Trowa’s encouraging smile, pressing a key into his best friend’s hand. _Just in case_ , he mouths.

 

* * *

 

 

Three months have passed, slow as leaves drifting past the peeling paint of the siding. The windows of the house are closed, dropped shut one by one with each dying moment of hope. Heero slides home the two deadbolts, spins the numbers to conceal the combination. Sometimes the stars will whisper Duo’s name and he’ll neglect the measures of safety, cracking open the glass beside his headboard to let the night breeze rustle the emerging tatters of his hair.

He told Duo not to call. And Duo always kept his promises.

It doesn’t stop his breath from hitching in his chest when the phone rings, doesn’t stop his steps from hastening to the beckoning object. Doesn’t stop the stab of agony when Duo’s name is missing from the screen, or the resulting blackness of his mood.

Even though he knows in the marrow of his brittle bones that Duo would rather eat his priest’s collar than break a promise, that damn ring sends his heart plummeting to the ground, rising on an elevator of hope before Quatre or Trowa’s name sends it crashing to the basement of reality once more.

He is aware that he has to stop expecting Duo to call, has to crush the optimism that is slowly leeching what little happiness remains in his life. Sometimes he’ll hear a phone at the crux of midnight, wake shaking from dreams of amethyst eyes and long, long hair to a silent house. He doesn’t sleep much anymore. At least in his waking hours he can keep busy, driving his body to the brink of collapse, occupy his mind until pain throbs at his temples like a jackhammer. He can run himself into ragged tatters, but Duo’s name is always waiting behind his eyelids, calling to him in a voice that sounds like home. 


	2. Colder Weather 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “When you leave,” Heero murmurs, voice cracking like ice bearing too much weight, “and I know you will, so don’t try to lie – when you leave, don’t call me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Current Pairing: HeavyWing (1x3x1), past DeathWing (1x2x1)
> 
> Ahoy, here thar be smut. And more angst. Whoops.
> 
>  
> 
> And, for those who celebrate it, Merry Christmas!!!

A year ago, Duo wandered out of his life like flame-licked leaves drifting away in the fall. He fled the colder weather, tucked himself into the warmth and comfort of old habits. He did what Duo Maxwell did best, and ran. Heero hasn’t seen him since then, hasn’t heard from him since a tear-spattered note promised _I won’t call_.

Heero has gotten over the ache of regretting that promise, extracted on the night that he first acknowledged that Duo would leave. He’s stifled the twitch that a phone call causes, though sometimes when the night breeze drifts through the window, that haunting ring still guts him and leaves him raw with wanting.

He’s recovered from four months of insomnia, four months of running from sleep and dreams of his missing lover. Eight months ago, in the midst of the worst night he’d endured for a while, he lifted his head from a nest of tears and discovered that he wasn’t alone. His faithful shadow, sitting beside the bed, offered him a cup of tea and ensured him that this would pass, that he would be okay. Eight months ago, he rolled into the dip of the mattress and captured Trowa’s lips in a kiss that warmed him down to his frozen bones.

Trowa is Trowa. Heero never expects him to be Duo, never expects their passion to be the same. It is gentle as the rolling waves, blanketing him in safety. It is the healing balm for his wounded soul. Trowa will never fan the flames of his heart’s forge, will never cause the fire to leap so high that he fears he will be consumed. Trowa is the banked coals, the heat that seeps into his soul and warms him from within. It’s the gentle heat of coming back to a body-warmed bed, not the raging bonfire of undaunted passion. But that is okay with him. Heero never wants to be lost in someone else again, never wants to fall so deep into them that he loses who he is.

And Trowa does that for him. Undemanding in his love, there when Heero reaches for him and absent when Heero mourns for someone else. He won’t move into Heero’s house, to the bed he once shared with Duo. Says Heero needs his space, knows that Heero still needs just a little bit more time. Heero doesn’t have to explain, yet Trowa understands. He doesn’t ask why they can’t fuck on nights when Heero leaves the window open. Never questions when Heero still jumps sometimes when the phone rings.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s close to one year since that first kiss when Trowa refuses to come home with him one night. Gives him only a strange, blank stare in response to his questioning. Trowa, always reticent, always answers in his own way. A touch to the wrist, a flicker in the depths of his visible eye, an almost invisible smile. Today, nothing. No compassion. No explanation.

“You’ll understand when you get home,” he comments quietly.

His body screams tension, the lean muscle of his body tight with unspoken fear. Heero hasn’t seen Trowa afraid since the war, and wonders what could possibly be waiting in his house that has Trowa coiled so tensely. Whatever it is, Trowa doesn’t want to face it with him. Refuses to face it with him.

“Trowa, come home with me. Please. We can figure out whatever it is.”

Trowa just shakes his head, twisting free of his restraining hand, and stalks away, green eyes clouded with pain. Heero is left standing in the doorway to their office, confusion twisting in his gut, trying to recall what he’s done wrong. He hasn’t left the window open in months. He twists his hands into fists, fighting the urge to say ‘fuck it’ and sleep alone without protest. Running is the truest lesson that Duo ever taught him, but it sure as hell doesn’t save relationships. Fighting down a snarl, he stalks through the corridors after Trowa’s retreating back.

He corners his lover in the locker room, hefting one of the massively heavy benches and slamming it up against the door. Locking them in, ensuring that no one will interrupt before he gets his answers. Trowa pivots on his heel to watch, his eyebrows rising up his forehead. He blinks slowly at Heero, a vaguely amused curl on his lips.

“Bit dramatic, don’t you think?” he murmurs.

Heero strides across the room, eyes dark and determined, tongue flicking out to taste his lips. Backing Trowa up along the line of lockers, he cages the taller man between his muscular arms and leans in. A pained glint shines in Trowa’s eyes as he jerks his face away, tilting his jaw toward the ceiling. Heero almost stops, then, Trowa’s fear seeping into him. Trowa’s never said no before. Never refused a kiss.

“Heero, please don’t.”

Uncertainty skitters along his skin, itching down his spine. Every instinct screams for him to stop, but his heart is down on its knees in prayer. “Trowa, don’t do this to me. Don’t shut me out. Don’t run. I can’t handle that – you _know_ I can’t handle it.”

His hands fumble at the belt of Trowa’s black uniform pants, eyes bright with desperation. Panic seeps into his veins, leaving his fingers shaking and weak, barely able to manage the simple buckle. He knows this might be a bad decision, but he can’t help but believe that this will make Trowa stay. It has to work.

“Fuck, baby,” Trowa breathes as Heero’s hand slips inside his pants, cupping his half-hard cock through the wash-softened fabric of his boxers.

Trowa’s eyes slam shut as he surrenders, head falling back against the unyielding metal of the lockers. The grate bites into his shoulders, leaving him to arch himself away, inadvertently rolling his hips into Heero’s grasping palm. Heero grunts appreciatively, licking his lips again, flicking a quick glance up at Trowa’s face. His eyes are clenched tight, eyebrows drawn together in apprehension. The expression on his face is closer to anxiety than pleasure, though his mouth smoothes into a soft ‘oh’ as Heero’s hand slips past the button fly of his briefs.

“You really,” Trowa gasps around a moan, “you really need to go home.”

“Mmhm,” Heero agrees noncommittally, beginning to inch Trowa’s pants over his slender hips. “After I finish this…”

“Shit, this is – damn, you look so good like that… shit, Heero, this is _not_ a good idea.”

Heero stares up at him, folded on the tiled locker room floor like a goddamn pornstar, knees not bothered in the slightest by the mosaic biting into his legs. His hair has that mussed, just-fucked tangle, worsened by Trowa’s long fingers slowly twining their way into the silken mass. Leaning in, he ghosts a breath over Trowa’s erection, his stomach muscles tightening at the delicious noises creeping from his lover’s lips. He never gets tired of that – hearing Trowa completely unhinged, seeing the quiver in his legs as his knees threaten to give way, feeling the tightening grip in his hair.

“I love you,” Heero breathes, shutting out Trowa’s tortured whimper as the words graze the sensitive head of his dick.

Trowa doesn’t answer, doesn’t say it back, just tightens his grip and tugs Heero’s lips around his crown. Heero might be worried if he wasn’t captivated by the taste of that flesh as hot as molten steel, if he wasn’t entirely focused on the symphony of noise tugged out by the instruments of tongue and lips. Trowa rocks his hips, sheathing and withdrawing his twitching cock, the tiny movements aiding in Heero’s bobbing head.

His moan echoes off the roof as Heero’s hand lifts to cradle his balls, trapping them deftly between his fingers with a sure grip that shoots Trowa’s libido through the atmosphere. They don’t often play in public places – Trowa’s specialty is sleepy morning sex – but there’s something about watching the normally stoic man come undone beneath the harsh fluorescent lights that drives Heero crazy.

Trowa’s free arm lifts to curl behind his head, his shirt riding up to expose washboard abs. Heero lifts off his cock, a strand of saliva dangling from the head to his tongue. His lips are swollen slightly from the suction, and he grins filthily up at Trowa’s flushed cheeks before pressing a series of wet, heated kisses across Trowa’s bared stomach. The muscles jump beneath his lips, Trowa’s strangled whine pleading with him for more sensation. His hand fists around the spit-slicked shaft abandoned by his mouth, slowly pumping as his tongue replaces his lips. He laps at the salty tang of Trowa’s skin, tracing wet lines across the flat expanse of flesh between his hipbones.

“Heero, please,” he pleads, tugging frantically at the chocolate roots clenched in his fists.

Heero chuckles, low and dark, and relents, wrapping his lips around Trowa’s cock and working with tongue and lips until his nose is pressed against the downy hair at its base. He swallows convulsively, his throat pulsing against the head, and Trowa’s legs quiver in warning. Trowa leans heavily against the metal door for support, praying that his knees won’t give before his orgasm. And Heero, realizing that the other man is on the brink of collapse, speeds up his movements, tongue lapping at the vein on the underside of Trowa’s shaft, hands wrapping around Trowa’s ass to give him leverage.

Trowa’s climax rips out of him, a hoarse cry announcing his peak, and his fingers yank on Heero’s hair until tears spring to his eyes. Heero laps up the salty fluid, fingers caressing Trowa’s skin as he withdraws his mouth. It’s not until he sits back on his heels that he realizes that Trowa’s shaking isn’t from a post-orgasmic haze. His lover has an arm draped over his face, jaw turned into the crook of his elbow. A tear splashes free of the concealing limb, landing on Heero’s knee.

“Trowa…?” he stutters, bewildered.

He’s never seen Trowa cry. Not during the war, not when he is seized by nightmares, not even when Quatre chose politics over his circus boy and walked away. Yet the acrobat turns his back in shame, shoulders protectively hunched as a muffled sob drifts across the room. Heero rises to his feet, slowly, reaching out to place a hesitant hand on Trowa’s shoulder. The other man jerks away from him, movement sharp and protective.

“Don’t. You got what you wanted, Heero. Now go home.”

Stung, Heero backs away, emotional barriers descending with a harsh slam. Trowa has never been intentionally hurtful. He was never one to deliberately inflict wounds on someone else’s soul. Heero doesn’t know how to face this mechanical apathy, this grinding sadism in the face of a soul-shattering orgasm.

“I don’t know what I did, but I’m sorry. I wish you wouldn’t shut me out… I’m going. You know how to find me when you want me again.”

His last glimpse of Trowa, as he unceremoniously shoves the metal bench blocking the door, is the unibanged man slumping to the tiled floor, hands collecting his tears as his face twists in unfathomable pain. Like his heart is breaking in the empty, sterile confines of that room. Heero opens the door, his chest throbbing with shared agony, wondering why this feels like goodbye.

 

* * *

 

 

The walk home is excruciating. Every step screams through Heero’s bones, begging him to go back, to try and fix whatever is wrong, to prevent someone else from leaving him. He wraps arms around his ribcage, holding the fear trapped within his body. Trowa won’t leave. Trowa is his solid ground. Trowa knows that it would destroy him if someone else just vanished without a trace.

He still can’t fathom what went wrong. Trowa had been fine that morning, kissing him goodbye before heading to court to testify on a drug case. Had smiled like the sun rising above mountains when Heero dropped by to deliver lunch, fresh from his favorite Italian restaurant. And then, when Heero mentioned plans after work, Trowa had suddenly shut down. What happened? Did he see Quatre in the courtroom? Heero didn’t recall whether this particular drug issue had involved Winner Corporation. Perhaps he should have been paying closer attention to the press coverage.

It’s just that Trowa always wears this devastating pinstriped suit to court, and Heero spent most of his time that morning being exceptionally distracted by the pull of the jacket across his broad shoulders, the cut of the slacks across his magnificent ass…

A tiny smile quirks his lips. He lucked out, with Trowa. Finding someone so dedicated to him, someone to drive off the dogs of heartbreak that nipped at his heels. Maybe he could make Trowa dinner, toss together some rice and stir fry and bring it by Trowa’s apartment.

Maybe he could figure out why Trowa demanded that he go home alone. His key rattles in the door to the house, and he fidgets one key into the lock as he spins the combination with the other hand. He has it down to a science – unlock the top deadbolt while entering the proper code, and unlock the second deadbolt while preparing to catch the mail that the carrier insisted on shoving in the doorjamb.

The mail isn’t there today. He frowns at the absence and checks the date on his phone, ensuring that a delivery should have occurred. Now it just seems like the universe is screwing with him – the mail is missing, his lover refused to join him for dinner. He hates when his routine is disrupted for no discernable reason. Toeing open the door, he steps into the entryway and chucks his keys at the steel bowl on the counter. They ricochet off the edge and land at the bottom with a satisfying ring, and a silly smile paints his face as he plants his heel into the door to shove it closed. He doesn’t bother to lock it, as he’s planning on heading out as soon as dinner is ready.

It’s only as he shrugs out of his jacket, moving to hang it from the wall hook, that he notices company. A thrill of shock runs through his system, adrenaline pumping through his veins in the space of a heartbeat. His reflexes settle as his body instinctively recognizes the person framed in the window, sunset casting a halo across a slew of messy bangs. Tawny braid rests between the fingers of one hand, the other hand rising in a careless wave. A shy smile curls heart-shaped lips, deep, deep purple eyes shimmering with some strange emotion. Heero’s heart drops out of his chest, colliding with his lungs until he can hardly draw breath.

It’s why Trowa said no. It’s why the mail was missing. It was always his job.

“Hey there, ‘Ro.”


	3. Colder Weather 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “When you leave,” Heero murmurs, voice cracking like ice bearing too much weight, “and I know you will, so don’t try to lie – when you leave, don’t call me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Current Pairing: HeavyWing (1x3x1), past DeathWing (1x2x1)

Heero’s knees buckle, sending his body plunging to the unyielding wooden floor. He lands hard, his palms catching him, and bows his head as his vision swims. The world has gone fuzzy and grey, tiny spots reeling in his vision as he fights for breath. The heavy thud of boots penetrates the sweet, numb mist, and he barely registers a black-clad figure dropping to one knee beside him. A hand grabs his shoulder, shaking him slightly when he doesn’t respond.

“’Ro? Heero!”

“Duo,” he whispers dreamily.

This can’t possibly be real. But it’s a wonderful daydream – Duo’s scent drifting into his nostrils, cinnamon from his favorite gum and leather from his ever-present boots, the familiar warmth of his hand, solid and real on Heero’s bicep. A tiny smile curls his lips at the delusion. He knows Duo – Duo would rather fling himself off a resource satellite than return to his past. It’s awfully nice to live this hallucination, though. He lifts a muzzy gaze to Duo’s heart-shaped face, drinking in the concern and affection lingering there. God, it’s been so long since he saw Duo’s smile.

“I missed you,” Heero murmurs, ghosting his hand across the denim-covered knee by his side.

Duo’s eyes brighten alarmingly, moisture cradled on the edge of his long lashes. “I missed you too. I’m sorry I never called.”

A puzzled furrow forms between Heero’s eyebrows. His sight begins to sharpen, painting a clearer image of the situation. Duo in jet black jeans and a snug t-shirt, sleeves hugging his muscular arms. Considerably more fit than the Duo of his memory, in fact. The boots are more scuffed, the laces cut short on one. Archaic, traditional cross slipping out of his shirt to dangle over the planes of his chest. Some sort of black ink twined up his forearm in a distinctive marking that Heero doesn’t recall seeing before.

He lifts a baffled gaze to Duo’s face. “Duo. It’s really you.”

“Well it’s def’nitely not the Prime Minister,” Duo comments, amusement lighting his eyes.

“How…?”

Duo shrugs, glancing away. He removes his hand from Heero’s shoulder, hovering to ensure that Heero isn’t going to keel over. After a minute he shuffles away, putting distance between them, until he can rest his back against the wall. Shoving his booted feet out in front of him, leaving rubber streaks on the flooring, he crosses his arms and levels a solemn stare at Heero.

“I made a mistake,” he announces bluntly. “I thought you were justa piece of my past. Turns out that I reckon you’re parta my future.” He pauses, reaching up to scratch at the base of his braid, a flush rising on his cheeks. “At least, I hope you are.”

Heero doesn’t answer, smothered by the stone of despair sinking into his gut. Why now. Why when he is finally beginning to live again, finally starting to feel complete again, does Duo sweep back in like a wrecking ball? It doesn’t seem fair, for Duo to return, to throw a wrench into the gears that have just recently begun to function properly.

Duo shifts restlessly, propping one knee up, flinging his arms around the knee, dropping one hand to the floor, pulling his other knee up, before finally settling in his original position, legs straight out. His hands fall listlessly into his lap, a haunted darkness in his eyes. His mouth forms a dozen soundless words, lips contorting as he scuffles to find the right answer.

“Please don’t be in love with someone else,” he whispers, a quiet prayer.

Heero would have destroyed the earth to have heard that tone in Duo’s voice eighteen months ago. When he left. Before Trowa, before the healing, before the gentleness and passion that came in the wake of heartbreak. He doesn’t respond to Duo’s newest question either, letting the tension in the air answer for him. Duo swallows, a click in his throat as he struggles with this new truth.

“Who…? Anyone I know?”

A shy smile crosses Heero’s face at the thought of his lover. Duo’s face darkens at the sight, a thunderous jealousy crossing his features like a summer storm. Heero raises an eyebrow, shoving down the twinge in his heart at Duo’s pain, wordlessly reminding the braided man that he voluntarily surrendered his place.

“It’s Trowa.”

“I see,” Duo snarls through gritted teeth. His hands curl into fists, resting on his thighs, and a shudder runs through his athletic frame.

Heero watches the muscles bunch in his forearms and stifles a blast of heat through his veins. He is undeniably still attracted to Duo, moreso since his time away has apparently been extremely productive. Duo has clearly been taking care of himself – his body has filled out with sleek muscles, his braid lies glossy and thick over his shoulder. Wherever he was, he has done well for himself. And Heero’s libido is leaping like an overactive puppy, straining the boundaries of his control. Nevermind that it’s been eighteen months, that Duo walked away from him without a second chance.

“What are you doing here, Duo?”

Duo digs in his pocket for a moment, hand emerging with a key ring. Heero recognizes it, the tiny Deathscythe figurine dangling from what used to be Duo’s apartment key. “Tro gave these to me when I asked ‘bout you. Didn’t mention that y’all were,” he gestures vaguely. “together.”

Heero hisses a breath through his teeth. Trowa. His heart throbs in his chest, agonizing, sympathy pangs rocketing straight to his heart. Trowa gave Duo the keys, offered Duo a way back into Heero’s life, knowing that Heero might choose Duo over him. Sent Duo straight back to Heero’s side, where Heero has always wanted him. And then refused to accompany him, refused to be the buffer between Heero and his past, refused to be the excuse for Heero to turn Duo away. He sent Heero home, alone, well aware that he sent Heero home to his soulmate.

“So… where do we go from here?”

Heero gives him a puzzled look. “What do you mean? _We_ don’t go anywhere from here. I’m with Trowa now.”

Duo sucks in a startled breath, his eyes widening with surprise. After a drawn-out moment of silence, his lips twist in a wry bitterness. “Oh. I kinda, just, you know…”

“Thought I would drop everything to be with you again?” Heero laughs, short and unamused. “Once, I would have. But I’m happy with him. Truly.”

Duo’s lips drop at the edges, his eyes softening with pain. “Yeah. I can see in your face when you talk about him… you use to look like that when you thought about me.”

“I loved you, Duo,” he whispers, his body vibrating with pain.

“Past tense, huh?” Duo grimaces, picking at the fabric of his jeans. “What happened to forever?”

Heero launches himself to his feet, shaking off the reminder of pain. He feels stiff with anger, the familiar fury rising in his bones. After all this time, Duo dares accuse him of breaking a vow. After Duo vanished into the stars with a note, a _note_ , to say goodbye. Didn’t even have to balls to make his farewells in person. And now, sitting on the floor of the home they used to share, dares to try and pin blame on him for moving on with his life.

“It’s hard to keep promises to people who aren’t there,” he spits. “I have to go.”

Duo doesn’t move, stunned into motionlessness. Hurt is stitched into the lines of his body, into the white of his knuckles and the agony in his usually bright eyes. Guilt stabs into Heero’s heart and he pauses with his hand on the doorknob.

“You can stay if you want. Your room is still there. I… I haven’t changed it since you left.”

Duo struggles to nod, his whole body trembling. Heero forces his feet to keep moving, wrenches himself through the door. Manages not to look back at the person his whole body yearns for. Manages to pin down the heart in his throat, the beating creature with wings that strains to soar straight back into Duo’s arms.

 

* * *

 

Trowa opens the door after the third knock, weariness heavy in his limbs. Shock widens his one visible eye as he spies his visitor, the last person he was expecting.

“Heero?”

“Hey babe,” Heero answers softly. “Can I come in?”

Trowa pushes the door aside to let his lover in, closing it behind him. It’s only as Heero pulls Trowa into his arms, wrapping him in a grateful embrace, that he notices the shivering across Trowa’s skin. He withdraws far enough to notice red-rimmed eyes, cheeks flushed from scrubbing salt trails away, and his heart clenches.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Trowa ducks his head, crossing his arms over his bare chest. “Didn’t want you to know that I knew. Didn’t want you to refuse… out of principle or loyalty.”

“Trowa, I – ”

Trowa lifts his head, brushing his hair away to pin Heero with both brilliant green eyes. His face sets in stubborn lines, mouth thinning into a sharp blade of determination. “No, Heero. Listen to me. I know you love me but I am not and will never be Duo Maxwell. I’m your safe harbor, your sanctuary, but he is the storm that makes you feel alive. I can ground you and anchor you, but he’s the one who makes your spirit fly. No matter how much you love me, I’m never going to be that for you.”

“Trowa, I don’t need that. I love you. I don’t want him anymore,” Heero insists, reaching out for his lover.

Trowa steps back out of reach, shaking his head, lips quivering. He laughs, helplessly, no humor in the desperate noise. “You’re it for me. End of the line, one-way ticket to paradise. There’s no coming back from you. But I’m not the end all and be all for you, and I think that maybe he is.”

Tears fill Heero’s eyes, blurring the room and the face that has held him together for so long. “That’s why you wouldn’t move in? So he could come back? You were saving a place for him.”

“I had to,” Trowa states quietly, reaching out to take Heero’s hand. He squeezes it gently. “Did you know that you whisper his name in your sleep when the wind blows through the open window?”

“I can’t help it, Trowa!” Heero sobs, his heart breaking all over again. “I can’t help that he left his mark on me. But you did too. I don’t want to lose you!”

He sinks to his knees, scooting forward until he can wrap his arms around Trowa’s waist. He clings to him like a man dangling from a fraying rope bridge. His face pushes against the bones of Trowa’s hips as if he can climb inside and finally feel secure in the knowledge that he cannot be left behind. Pressing his tear-soaked cheek to Trowa’s abdomen, he cries, fingers digging into Trowa’s skin. Trowa rests one hand on Heero’s head, stroking his messy hair.

“Please,” Heero begs, lips damp against Trowa’s hips. “Please don’t leave me.”

Trowa untangles Heero’s hands from around his waist, lifts the grieving man to his feet. Heero meets his eyes with the quiet desperation of a soldier facing down the barrel of a gun, certain that he is about to be rejected. Instead, Trowa leans in, capturing his lips in a kiss so sweet that it nearly buckles him.

“I’ll stay as long as you want,” he whispers in the space between their mouths.

 

* * *

 

Duo couldn’t have chosen a more inconvenient time to return. Trowa and Heero are both in their office, for once, the first time in months when neither has been on long-term undercover assignments. And the higher-ups, figuring that the former Gundam pilots have a sort of life-long bond, have planted the newly returned Agent Azrael in the middle of their office. It’s awkward, to say the least. One of the three is constantly leaving on a make-shift errand, and the small space has never seen so many coffee breaks. Even Heero, the resident workaholic, is not immune to the strain that constantly hums between the trio of desks.

Trowa and Duo are left alone one day, silently doing paperwork at their desks. Trowa glances up at Duo, suddenly intensely focused on the braided man. Information has been chewing on his brain for a week now, shared not even with Heero. He doesn’t want to get in the middle of the situation, but he can’t stop himself from asking.

“So you were away on a mission,” Trowa states flatly.

“Hm?” Duo mutters, pen between his teeth, engaged in the brief he is reading.

“The reports say that you have been on an undercover mission for the last year and a half. That’s why you left?”

Duo glances up, face solemn. He places the pen down on the desk and offers Trowa his full attention. And his full honesty. “No. I left ‘cause that’s just what I do. The mission was a handy excuse.”

“You never told Heero,” Trowa observes, new respect in his voice with Duo’s revelation.

“I run, I hide, but I never tell a lie. To say that I was leavin’ for my job woulda been a shitty excuse. He knew I would leave someday. I wasn’t gonna sugarcoat it, ‘specially since it wouldn’t’ve helped anyway.”

Heero strolls back into the office, hesitating in the doorway at the heightened tension in the space. Trowa gives him a reassuring smile and Duo averts his eyes from Heero’s pleased acknowledgement of his lover’s attention. Trowa frowns as Heero spins his chair to face his computer. He can’t help but feel a sense of sympathy for Duo, being forced into a room with the man he loves, so close and yet untouchable. Especially since everyone in that office is aware that Heero loves both of them, loves them both and yet clings insistently to his bond with Trowa.

It will come to a breaking point, and soon, and Trowa still isn’t sure who Heero will choose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week will be the third chapter of Longest Winter.


	4. Colder Weather 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "When you leave," Heero murmurs, voice cracking like ice bearing too much weight, "and I know you will, so don't try to lie – when you leave, don't call me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Current Pairings: DeathWing x HeavyWing (1x2x3)
> 
> Warning~! Here thar be unrepentant man smut. You were warned. Proceed with caution. Beware of unidentified flying... well, you know.

Heero begins to suspect something on the day when he walks into the office to find Trowa perched on the edge of Duo’s desk, leaning in toward the braided man. Trowa rises sedately when he opens the door, stepping to his side to give him a kiss. It’s Duo who catches his attention though, jumping when he appears in the doorway, a strange expression on his face. His cheeks are flushed, lips pressed together as if to suppress a smile. He immediately fixates on his computer, ducking his head and refusing to meet Heero’s eyes. Heero shoots a silent question at Trowa, who merely shrugs and squeezes his hand before returning to his desk. 

Heero settles behind his own computer, eyes still aimed at Duo, who is distinctly _not_ looking at him, in such a determined fashion that it’s clearly intentional. His body language is half-guilty and half-elated, and Heero can’t quite puzzle out exactly what would cause that combination of emotions. 

He doesn’t mention it, even when he separates from Trowa’s goodnight kiss at the end of the day and catches Duo staring at them, a fierce longing burning in his eyes. Jealousy heating the almost aggressive eye contact, veils of polite behavior torn away to reveal the anger at his heart. Trowa turns in surprise as Heero settles into a ready stance, sees Duo’s eyes flicker to his lover. Whatever passes between Trowa and Duo, those stunning violet eyes blank out, careful neutrality replacing the truth. Duo nods brusquely at Trowa, casts one last lingering glance over Heero, and leaves them alone.

Heero glances over his shoulder at Trowa. “What was that about?”

Trowa shrugs, face blank. “Just Duo being Duo, I suppose.”

 

* * *

 

Heero knows for certain that something has gone terribly wrong on the day that he pushes open his bedroom door to find Duo seated on his bed. Weariness hangs from Heero’s shoulders like a well-worn cloak, causing his feet to scuff the carpet. He has been fantasizing all day about crawling back into bed and falling into the sweet darkness of sleep. The door opens on a sunset-gilded scene, walls painted with flame, the crimson licking at the vast, unbound waves of Duo’s hair. Heero sucks in a breath, stunned by the knife-sharp beauty of Duo’s tresses, the gleaming planes of his bared chest. 

“Duo,” he gasps, struggling for breath as if he has been sucker-punched in the chest. “What are you doing here?”

Duo meets his eyes silently, fingers nervously tangling in locks of hair, pulling the mahogany waves over his shoulders to hide his exposed torso. His arms flicker in and out of shadow, adorned with twining black ink, though Heero notes that his abdomen is curiously bare of adornment. Wariness lurks in Duo’s purple eyes, and he glances at the adjoining bathroom door as if searching for answers. Heero follows his eyes, shocked to find Trowa emerging from the bathroom, bare chest gleaming with water droplets that trickle down into the waistband of his boxers. 

Heero staggers back a step, pressing a fist to his stomach as his intestines roil. Trowa peers out from beneath a towel, tousling his hair dry, and offers him an unconcerned smile. 

“Trowa, what is going on?” He can’t bring himself to ask the obvious question. Or the less obvious but equally confusing, if Trowa was going to cheat on him, why did it have to be in his bed? 

 He shoves down a wave of nausea as Trowa slides onto the bed, smoothing Duo’s hair away from his skin to press a kiss on his shoulder. Really, this is just cruel. It’s apparent now that Trowa and Duo are involved in some way. Duo leans into Trowa’s touch, a muscle twitching in the corner of his jaw as he meets Heero’s eyes. He’s nervous. Afraid that Heero will hurt him, perhaps, though that’s ludicrous. Duo should know better than anyone else how much Heero abhors violence, now that it is no longer necessary. 

“It’s not what you think, ‘Ro,” Duo murmurs. 

Trowa tucks Duo under one arm, leaning them back until they recline together against the headboard. And they do look good together, Heero has to admit, Duo’s hair spread around them like a cloak, hooded purple eyes of a predator, and Trowa’s acrobatic limbs twined around him. They’re beautiful, both of them. Trowa extends his free hand, beckoning to Heero, who takes an involuntary step back, shaking his head.

“I can see what this is. And I don’t want your pity. I’ll leave.”

Trowa’s says his name as he turns to go. No demand in his voice, no harsh tone. Easily enough to ignore, if Heero wanted to shove his twice-broken heart in a tiny box and never speak to them again. This time, though, this time it will be him leaving. Not being left. So he has all of the time in the world to decide. And he can demand answers. He spins on his heel, fixing the couple with the most malevolent glare he has in him. Duo actually cringes. The God of Death, shrinking back against the wood of the bedframe as if it will protect him. Trowa raises his eyebrows, response as mild and unconcerned as always. 

“What do you want, Trowa?” Heero spits out. 

“I want you to be happy,” Trowa answers. He continues over Heero’s derisive snort, disbelief clear on the Asian man’s face. “And you’re not happy right now. You’re torn between us. You love him for his fire and spirit, you love me for my loyalty and stability. But I…” he pauses, meets Duo’s eyes, and corrects himself. “We don’t want to make you choose. You can have both of us, if you want.”

Heero’s heart stutters in his chest. Trowa’s not leaving him, hasn’t chosen Duo over him. Has in fact chosen Heero so thoroughly that he is willing to share Heero with Duo. Even knowing that Duo is the love of Heero’s life, his first choice, he has given Heero this gift.

“Trowa,” he whispers, an ache in his chest. This couldn’t have been an easy decision, knowing that he might be giving Heero freedom while placing himself forever in Duo’s shadow. “Are you sure?”

This time Heero accepts the offered hand, climbing up onto the bed with his current and former lovers. His limbs tremble as he crawls into Trowa’s arms, tears stinging his eyes as their lips meet. He tastes the salt of his uncertain hope on Trowa’s tongue, the other man’s hands slipping up to brush the liquid from his face. 

As he pulls away from his lover, Trowa meets his eyes. Heero searches the emerald depths, trying to find the truth of his words. “I’m sure.”

At a loss for anything further to say, Heero leans in again, capturing Trowa’s lips with his own. He presses forward, clambering into Trowa’s lap, pouring all of the released confusion into the kiss. Trowa’s hand slips into the hair at the nape of his neck, cupping the back of his skull, preventing him from moving away. Heero doesn’t mind – he has no intention of running from this, of fleeing from the best chance he’ll ever get at happiness. A touch ghosts over his shoulder, as familiar as his own heartbeat, as he shudders like a fly-swarmed horse. 

Trowa backs away, slightly, and Duo’s face swims into focus beside him. They have matching furrows of concern between their eyebrows. They’re the only clear pictures in a blurry, slowly revolving room. Trowa grips him by the shoulders and shakes him slightly as Duo cups his cheek, patting it roughly, until the room sharpens. Heero swallows down the swimming nausea and manages a weak smile. 

“We can do this another time,” Duo offers hesitantly. His face falls into sorrow as he drops his chin to avoid scrutiny. “Or not at all.”

Heero shakes his head rapidly, regretting the motion as the room slowly revolves in his sight. He clenches his eyes shut until the merry-go-round sensation vanishes. “No!” He shouts, louder than is perhaps necessary. He gentles his voice. “No. I want this. I just… never thought I’d get it.”

He manages to pry his eyelids open. Reaching out, he captures their hands. Two sets of hands to hold. It won’t be easy, trying to maneuver his way through what he expects will be a complicated relationship. But he’ll be damned if he isn’t going to try after Trowa laid it on the line for him. 

“Where do we start?” Heero asks self-consciously, a blush tinting his cheeks. 

Trowa gives him a knowing look as Duo conceals a smile behind his free hand. “First you kiss me,” Trowa instructs, and then indicates Duo. “And then you kiss him.”

Heero sets his face in mission mode, determined to fling himself over the wall of uncertainty that faces him. It’s not that he doubts Trowa. He loves Trowa, trusts that the other man has made the best decision for all of them. He certainly doesn’t doubt Duo, after all they have been through. He just doubts himself, can’t bring himself to believe that not one but two absolutely breathtaking men want him. And want not just his body, which he can logically assess and agree is reasonably attractive, but his heart, which is a stranger to him, one that conjures strange feelings and wild impulses. 

Shaking free of the clinging anxiety, he leans forward, resting his hands on Trowa’s shoulders. The other man encourages him by tracing his jaw with a finger, crooking it beneath his chin to draw him in. Their lips meet, and the familiar flare of warmth greets him, like sliding between body-heat warmed sheets. It’s comfortable and gentle and perfect, warming him from his frozen bones and erasing the confusion from his quieting mind. Heero’s tongue slips out, hesitant, finding Trowa’s lips parted and waiting. Heero sighs softly, his hands slipping from Trowa’s shoulders to caress the silky skin of his chest. Trowa’s hand tightens around his hip, the only indication of his passion. 

Heero smiles into the kiss. His lover may be stoic right up until the throes of orgasm claim him, but he has a thousand little ‘tells’ that Heero has long since learned to recognize. The twitch of his fingers against Heero’s skin, the arch in his back, a low groan deep in his throat, the rumble from his chest… they all drive Heero’s libido through the roof. He doesn’t need grand gestures. Just the flutter of Trowa’s pulse speeding up as Heero caresses him, letting Heero know that Trowa is losing himself in Heero’s grasp.

Heero draws himself away reluctantly, brain reminding him that a second man is impatiently waiting for his attention. Trowa’s eyes are sleepy and hooded, the pupils beginning to dilate in that ‘please fuck me’ expression. A low growl rumbles out of Heero’s chest in an instinctive response, his body effortlessly responding to the familiar signs of their relationship. Trowa nudges him slightly, interrupting the tunnel of lust narrowing his vision. He grudgingly tears his gaze from his lover and fixes it on his ex, where Duo is watching the proceedings with a wary curiosity. 

A blush burns onto Duo’s cheeks as Heero watches him, and he squirms slightly under the intensity of Heero’s Prussian eyes. The edges of Heero’s mouth twitch in a tiny smile, faintly amused by Duo’s discomfort. If Duo is anything, he is not shy. And yet, here he is, blood blossoming on his face, eyes almost demurely lowered. A familiar twinge twists in Heero’s chest and he finally takes pity on the braided man, cupping Duo’s jaw in his hands. Duo’s lips part beneath his with a sigh of relief and surrender, and their lips meet in an explosion of heat. 

Heero’s hips rock forward in an inadvertent motion as his body remembers, all at once, what it was to make love to Duo. Fire and passion, clothing torn and buttons rolling beneath the closet door. Sheer perfection, consumed in the flames of a love so fierce that it left no room for doubt. His blood ignites, soul tempered by the anchor of Trowa’s presence, and Heero surrenders with the sure knowledge that Trowa will be there to guide him back to himself when it’s all over. Suddenly Duo’s hands are fisted in his hair, clutching them together, his teeth nipping at Heero’s bottom lip. Heero groans into his mouth, the sound swallowed by Duo’s tongue flicking out to taste him.

Heero wrenches away, panting, wild-eyed, uncomfortably aroused. He reaches out for Trowa, finding the other man’s steadying hand waiting. He latches on, lacing their fingers together and squeezing until his knuckles turn white. Trowa, not wincing, merely lifts their joined hands to his lips and brushes a kiss across Heero’s skin. Heero lets his eyes slide closed, drawing a bracing inhale through his nose.

“Now what?” He whispers, letting the darkness behind his eyelids soothe his spinning thoughts.

“Well, that depends…” Trowa murmurs. “Do you want to be in the middle?”

A flash of heat bursts through Heero’s gut, and his body twitches involuntarily. He grits his teeth around a moan as he hardens fully, rocking his hips against Trowa’s muscular thigh. Trowa laughs quietly, an approving noise, and shifts a hand to his hip to guide his movements. 

“I’ll take that as a yes.” 

Trowa tucks a hand at the base of his neck, reeling him in for a slow, mind-blowing kiss. Muscles tense along Heero’s body, standing out in sharp relief against his tanned skin, and he braces himself against Trowa’s chest. His arms tremble, barely able to hold him up, and he can feel his elbows begging to buckle beneath his weight. He lets his eyes drift open as Trowa releases him, fingers ghosting down his spine. He shivers beneath his lover’s touch, senses prickling in anticipation. This is everything he’s ever fantasized about, a fever dream come true. It almost doesn’t seem real.

Tipping his head, he meets Duo’s eyes. The braided man is perched on his heels, head tilted slightly to the side, just watching. There’s a furrow of confusion between his eyebrows, and Heero can practically hear the thoughts spinning through his ex-boyfriend’s brain. He and Trowa, they move like rolling waves, teasing and playing their way to climax. It’s a slow build and a lengthy road to a more-than-rewarding climax, but it’s nothing like sex with Duo. They’d hardly had time for foreplay when they were dating, just enough to ensure that the fine line between pleasure and damage was never crossed. He wonders if Duo is bothered by the difference, by the stark reminder that Heero has been loving and fucking another man while he was gone. By the physical evidence that Heero might have wanted more than half-painful sex in a broom closet down the hall from their Preventer office. 

Trowa nudges Heero’s chin up with his nose, pressing open-mouthed kisses to the line of his pulse, and Heero writhes against the hard planes of his body, reveling in sweat-slicked flesh joined hip to collarbone. Trowa’s erection presses into his thigh, a comforting weight, reminding him that he is possibly the luckiest man alive. It’s perversely soothing, his boyfriend’s arousal, reassuring him that this threesome, whatever else it does, is not jeopardizing the anchor in his life. 

His back arches in a straining bow as Trowa’s clever fingers slip between his buttocks, caressing his entrance with the barest pressure. He bites down on his bottom lip, hard, nearly crying out as another pair of hands slide over his skin. Duo’s mane brushes against his ribs as the long-haired man presses up against them, his mouth mirroring Trowa’s on the other side of Heero’s throat. Heero has to close his eyes again as the desire blinds him, still in disbelief that this is actually happening. It’s a fight to keep himself in the moment, to keep what ifs away, to silence the little voice that asks him what he will think when they wake in the morning.

And then Trowa is sitting up, effortlessly maneuvering Heero between himself and Duo. The braided man stretches his length on the bed, lithe figure cradled in a nest of hair. He stretches, no longer shy, lean limbs flexing against the soft cotton of the sheets. Heero drapes himself over Duo, unable to suppress a smile as their bodies fall into an achingly familiar alignment. Duo returns the quirk of lips, stretching up to press a sweet kiss to his lips, one that turns heated and feral as Trowa pushes against his hips and meshes their erections together. Duo tears away from the kiss with a snarl on his tongue, the long-repressed lust surfacing with a vengeance. 

Heero’s self-control dissolves into a tangle of limbs and lips, Duo’s teeth seated against his collarbone as Trowa lines Heero’s spine with his tongue. Between Duo’s cock rubbing his own and Trowa’s grinding slowly into his ass, Heero is in a complicated mixture of bliss and torture. His body is screaming for more stimulation, more than the maddening rocking between the two teasing males, more than the vague satiation of squirming against a muscular and sweat sheened body. At the same time he is reveling in the torment of the slow build, knowing that the end will come too soon for his liking.

The pop of the lube cap sends a thrill through him, libido conditioned to leap at the sound. Heero pushes eagerly back onto the slippery fingers, his head thumping onto Duo’s chest as the pleasure explodes in his chest like an atom bomb. He comes unhinged as Trowa’s fingers plunge and twist, stretching him, the escstasy mounting faster than he can process. His fingers can barely grip the bottle when it is passed to him, and it takes him a significant amount of time to realize that he should prep Duo. 

He pours lube into his shaking hand, managing to grin weakly at Duo’s perplexed expression. They had never used lube consistently, too busy fucking on the couch or the kitchen counter to use traditional means of easing penetration. Often it was whatever was at hand, from lotion to cooking oil. Despite this, Duo can’t suppress the moan that rises from his lips as Heero’s unsteady fingers find their target, slipping easily into the ring of muscle. It clenches tightly around him, pulsing slightly, and he has to stop for a moment as euphoria swamps him. It’s almost too much, the feelings in his chest and cock almost too intense. At the rate they’re going, he’ll come before he can even get to the main event. 

He manages to leash his fraying restraint long enough to properly prepare Duo, long enough to allow Trowa to slick his dick with lube and begin an agonizingly leisurely slide into his body. A whimper leaks from his lips, his body shuddering uncontrollably, and he bucks forward as Duo’s hand slips between them to wrap around his cock. The long-haired man guides Heero to his entrance, letting Heero’s hands clench tightly around his hips as he sheaths himself. 

The three pause, then, breath coming too quickly. Heero can see the pulse fluttering at Duo’s throat, hummingbird fast, matching the frantic tattoo of his own blood. Trowa rests his head against Heero’s shoulder as the pair kneels between Duo’s spread legs, and Trowa’s hand sneaks around to encircle Duo’s neglected organ. Duo’s eyes widen in surprise before hooding with appreciation at Trowa’s talented strokes. 

“Fuck, that feels good,” Duo moans, hips lifting ever so slightly.

The motion shifts him forward, sinking Heero even deeper into the tight grip of his body. Heero’s eyes roll back in his head as the friction shoots through him, his hips twitching involuntarily. He begins to shift experimentally between the two of them. His backward motion pushes Trowa’s crown against his prostate, while his forward swing slicks his cock with the heat of Duo’s body. His fingers spasm against Duo’s hips, using his grasp to pull the long-haired man into him. Trowa’s free hand mirrors his, coming to rest on Heero’s side, the other still gliding over Duo’s shaft. 

They settle into a rhythm, breathing erratic, bodies moving in a sort of desperate sync as the three struggle to prolong the excruciating pleasure. Duo is the first to break, bangs plastered against his face. His head tips back, heart-shaped face twisted, eyes clenched closed as Heero’s name barrels from his lips. Hands fist in the sheets, bearing down and tearing the fragile fabric, and his feet come up to brace against Trowa’s ass, pushing the uni-banged man hard into Heero. 

A scream erupts from Heero’s lips, fingers bruising Duo’s hips as his motions lose fluidity, changing from thrusts into twitches. He gasps in a breath, struggling to get in enough air as he comes unraveled. He manages to force both of their names from his lips as his vision goes white, as his body disconnects from his brain. His orgasm is like a tidal wave, sweeping his consciousness from its feet and sending him into a sweet, foggy oblivion. 

Having satisfied his lovers, Trowa gives in to his desperate need for climax, driving himself into Heero a few more unsteady times before he plunges over the peak. He barely manages to stay upright as Heero collapses onto Duo’s chest, carefully extracting himself from his lover’s body before flopping onto the bed beside the still-joined pair. The room swims in Heero’s sight, breath loud in the otherwise silent room. 

Skin dries, fluids sticking to sheets and stomachs, as heartbeats gradually return to normal. And Heero drifts to sleep with a satisfied smile on his face. For the first time in almost two years, he is free of heartbreak, free from the crushing guilt of loving too much. For the first time in almost two years, he feels complete. Finally, after almost two years, his winter heart begins to thaw. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week is the fourth chapter of Longest Winter. It also has a smut scene in it. That will mark the end of the Sunset series. I hope you've enjoyed!


End file.
